Her face blanked out, going completely devoid of emotion. “Is one of those for me?” She nodded at the coffee.
He floundered for a second, trying to decide if it would piss her off more to keep going with his explanation, to try and clarify what he’d meant with the whole not normal thing, or to just ply her with caffeine. “Yes,” Liam said, nodding at the cup in front, “caramel macchiato”—then to the one at the back—“white chocolate mocha.”
She went still, whispered something that sounded like, “Fluff.” But before he could ask her what she’d said or what fluff meant, if he’d even heard that right, Mia lifted her chin and said, “And the bag?”
“Bagel sandwiches.”
Her eyes flared. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you bring that stuff?”
Um. Wasn’t that obvious? He thought she was capable and gorgeous and strong and—
“You’re a puzzle,” he blurted instead of any of those “normal” things. Fuck.
Her head tilted to the side, long black hair swinging behind her in a shining tail, brows drawn together as she scoffed. “You’re insane.”
“Because I think you’re a puzzle?”
“I’m the most straightforward person you’ll ever meet.”
His lips ghosted up into a smile. “That’s probably true,” he agreed. “But I’m not talking about what’s on the surface.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re a puzzle,” Liam repeated, setting the tray of coffee down on the small table by the door, stashing the bag alongside it. He stepped closer, not near enough to touch, because he’d learned his lesson, but within proximity to see clearly that those brown eyes hid a little green. More secrets hidden beneath the surface. “Because on the outside,” he said, “you seem to be only hard edges and barbed wire, but there’s something . . . delicate inside you.”
That wasn’t exactly the word he wanted to use, but he didn’t think Mia would like it if he substituted with the one he was really thinking—that being, fragile.
Because there was something breakable and delicate about this woman.
Crystal covered in steel.
Get through the top layers in order to see the beauty beneath.
“Delicate?” she asked with an arched brow.
“That’s no comment on your ass-kicking skills, J.B.,” he said, lips tipped up, fingers brushing lightly over the bruise on his jaw that had emerged in all its purple-and-black glory from her elbow the night before. “You’ve demonstrated them quite efficiently.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t call me baby.”
“J.B.,” he said quickly. “Like the letters. Not baby.”
Her eyes remained narrowed, brow lifted. “What the hell does that mean?”
He decided his best course of action was a distraction and picked up the coffees again. “Macchiato or mocha?”
“Do you know how much sugar is in those?” she said, still not relaxing, that eyebrow still raised.
It probably hinted at his fucked-up-ness that he enjoyed that brow, was amused by the sharp tone. But he’d never been attracted to weak women. His mom was “all brass balls and steel wool”—that was a direct quote from his dad, and although his parents had never shared the hidden meaning behind it, Liam had heard the phrase so much over the years that he knew he’d never be able to think of a more perfect description.
She’d had to be strong and a little abrasive to deal with three boys, all only two years apart, and a professional hockey player husband who traveled for half the season.
She’d had to have giant proverbial balls to deal with his grandfather.
Hank Williamson, who had also been a professional hockey player, who was very much of the “men bring home the bacon, the women have kids” sect.
Well, that wasn’t Liam’s mom. Not one iota.
Fran had wanted a family—though Liam wasn’t sure if three boys under the age of six had been her plan. But regardless, he and his brothers had been born close together, and though she’d been involved at their schools and during sports, she’d also been a high-powered executive at a local bank.
Not a pushover.
Strong and capable . . . like the woman in front of him.
“I think after that routine,” he told her, shoving the mocha in her direction since it was the less sweet of the two drinks, “you deserve a little sugar.” He let go when he’d perched it on her still crossed arms and she sighed, shifted carefully to grab it. “Let me guess, you take your coffee black?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer him.
“You do,” he said. “Is that what makes you jump so high?”
A snort. “I just prefer it black, okay?”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
Her head tilted to the side, probably at the sharp right turn in conversation. “No.”
“A vegan?”
Another head tilt, this time in the other direction. It was as cute as the tiny furrow between her brows. “No,” she said again.
Liam grinned inwardly, thinking that Mia would appreciate being called cute in any fashion about as much as she’d appreciated him referring to her as delicate. Tempted as he was to say it aloud, just to see her reaction, he figured he’d pushed her far enough for the moment, so he spun, retrieved the bag of bagels, and sat down on one of the chairs by the door, opening the folded top and pulling out the two sandwiches. “Bacon or sausage?” he asked.
She frowned, that tiny furrow growing larger.
“Bacon, it is,” he said, pulling the paper-wrapped sandwich out and waving it in her direction.
The delicious smell of meat filled the space. Meat. Heh. Liam had to bite back a snort. The guys on the Gold had corrupted him. He used to be a mature twenty-five-year-old man who’d had a normal sense of humor. A couple weeks with the team, and he’d regressed about fourteen years.
“Come on,” he said, focusing on the gorgeous woman in front of him instead of the middle school humor. “It’s my cheat day, don’t let it go to waste.” He grinned. “Or worse, don’t leave it around for me to eat. I’ll feel like shit tomorrow.”
Silence.
Stiff shoulders, an undrunk cup of coffee in her hand.
He set the sandwich on the chair next to him, pulled out the sausage one—also, heh—and began eating. “Oh my God,” he mumbled through the sandwich. “This is amazing.” He took another bite, rubbed his stomach. “It might be the best bagel I’ve ever had.”
Mia rolled her eyes.
He chewed, swallowed, then took another bite. “Oh my—”
“Is that sandwich going to make you come, too?”
Liam inhaled and immediately started choking on the giant bite he’d shoved into his mouth, and apparently being near death was the one thing that would drive Mia off her spot on the mat.
She crossed over to him, took the bagel from his hands and set it down on the chair, then knelt in front of him, ordered, “Lift your arms up.”
He glanced at her, confused at what his arms had to with the fact that he was coughing like hell. Mia made an annoyed noise, leaned close, and grabbed his wrists, yanking his arms over his head.